


Heart like a Haunted House

by ichbinerica



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Game(s), Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichbinerica/pseuds/ichbinerica
Summary: 6 months after the fall of the Institute and the resolution of Far Harbor, the Sole Survivor has isolated herself in a deep depression. When Nick and Preston arrive on her doorstep asking for her help again, she reluctantly agrees to a short trip. But what she doesn't realize is that the settlement she's going to help is on an old train- and it's ready for departure. Join her on a round trip from Boston to Chicago as she works through her traumas, makes new friends, and rekindles a lost love (it's Nick).
Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	1. A haze of jet and whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my first published fic, and I'm kinda scared to post it. I hope the fandom isn't dead, I know I'm 6 years too late to this party, but my love for Nick and Fallout will never die. So here it is for all my fellow synthfuckers out there. Marked explicit for upcoming action violence and smut. (Lemons for my fellow 30-somethings out there)
> 
> I do not own or possess any part of the Fallout 4 copyright and this work is intended for entertainment use only.

The bar around her had filled with people steadily throughout the night, and was currently bustling with activity. A clatter of indistinct voices filled her ears as she downed the dregs of her whiskey. Another one slid down the bar mere seconds later, as if the bartender had read her mind. She looked down the bar as it stretched ever further away from her, Vadim waving at her from behind it. He said something she could not hear and gestured towards the door. She turned her head and Vadim’s words finally met her:

“Your date is here. Ey, you keep him out of trouble okay?”. Nick was walking towards her, fedora darkening his face, leaving only the glow of his cigarette and yellow eye filaments visible. She looked down at herself and found she was wearing a red sequined dress- she didn’t remember owning one. The neon lights seemed brighter as he drew near her, and she heard Diamond City Radio begin to play in the background.

“...Whereabouts of Diamond City’s most effective detective-”. A hand on her shoulder pulled her attention away, and she looked up at Nick, who smiled casually. 

“Nick! Oh how I’ve missed you so, my love!” She exclaimed, her voice sounding distant, as though it were coming from a TV in another room.

Nick tossed away the butt of his cigarette; the neon shining from the signs on the wall took on the intensity as his eyes, and the surroundings of the bar faded away leaving them standing in a formless neon-soaked room. 

He reached out and cupped her chin- a tender moment turned sharp by the thin metal of the remains of his hand.

“You know I’ll always come back for you, Dollface.” His voice had the same far-away quality that hers had had, as though it were coming through a distant television set playing some old romance movie.

He pulled her to him and their lips met, tasting of cigarettes and booze and 

Nothingness.

Then suddenly, they were in her workshop, themselves again. He held her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around him and her dress discarded on the floor. She pulled her bra off and flung it away, then began unbuttoning his threadbare white shirt. 

He planted a desperate kiss on her neck, and she ran her fingernails over his back unconsciously, giving in to the urge that had laid dormant for too long. Her hands slid over his shoulders and found their way to either side of his face, and she pulled him to her. Another kiss into nothingness, and she came to stark naked on the floor, Nick nowhere to be seen. 

Her head was pounding and her muscles sore from having fallen asleep on the hard concrete of her living room floor. She recognized her home in Diamond City, but it was dark, uncharacteristically dark. A shiver ran down her spine and she realized how cold she was. She looked around for a covering of some kind, fumbling around in the dark for any scrap of fabric big enough to cover her. Her knees protested her crawling over the frigid concrete as she moved and she groaned in displeasure. 

Finally! She had found something, and she greedily reached for it, attempting to pull it towards her. 

A scream flew from her lips mere seconds later when the realization hit- she was pulling the shirt from the back of a dead man. She skittered back across the floor in terror, stumbling over another cold, lifeless body. The lights turned on and a grim scene appeared before her-- bodies, piles of them stacked one upon the other, limbs mangled and joints twisted. The light felt wrong, it felt sickening, too bright and too close and too much. Everything was too much suddenly, and she banged on the floor to try and shock herself back to reality. The gasps turned to terrified cries and the concrete began to tear at her hands.

_ This is a dream right? I’m dreaming, I was sleeping before this and now I’m having a nightmare. _

Two arms encircled her waist and pulled her into a tight, calming hug from behind. As her bare back made contact with the stranger he faded away, leaving her to fall on the floor unsupported. She fell through it as if she were falling into a pool. The world dissolved, leaving nothing but faded nothingness, and then all at once,

Wakefulness.

* * *

Her body tensed as though she had hit the ground headfirst, her eyes opening to her dirty bedroom walls. Her head was pounding, the room was far too bright for whatever fucking time it was. What time  _ was  _ it? Had her room always been this bright? She rubbed her eyes and rolled over to face the doorway, tensing up again when she saw the man standing there, lighting up a cigarette.

Her hand flew to the gun haphazardly placed on her headboard-

“Now, I’m having a hard time believing you don’t recognize  _ me _ .” It was Nick Valentine, plain as day. The terminal on the opposite wall cast his features in a pale green light. Was she still dreaming? She sat up and drew her knees to her chest, dislodging two empty jet canisters and sending them clattering to the floor in a crimson flash. Nick frowned in disapproval and she involuntarily tensed, waiting for whatever horrible thing this dream (was it a dream?) threw at her next.

“So, this is how you’ve been spending your retirement? Can’t say I approve.” Nick’s irritation was obvious, but she was indifferent, squinting against the fluorescent hell her bedroom had become. Nick looked around the room, eyes lingering on a pile of whiskey bottles heaped in the corner of the small breakroom-turned-bedroom. He wore a mixture of concern and irritation on his face as he sat down on the edge of the bed, offering her a fresh cigarette from his carton. She took it and gratefully put it in her mouth, leaning towards the lighter he had clicked to life in front of her.

“Jesus, kid, this is one helluva retirement party you’re having. You looked like you could use a cigarette.” She nodded in agreement and gratefully inhaled until the tip turned cherry red. The hot, dry smoke filled her throat with the flavor of tobacco-- the dream was fading and things were starting to feel very real. She didn’t know which one she would have preferred anymore. 

She rubbed her eyes, attempting to clear the fog in both her vision and her brain. She didn’t know how to proceed or even respond; when she walked out of the agency 6 months ago she never expected to see him again. The residual feelings from the dream mixed with the hangover blurred together as she recalled the memory; the dim light of the agency, the scent of tobacco on his jacket, the ache in her chest. Her eyes began to swim and she swept away the memory, determined not to show any emotion.

“What do you want, Nick?” She asked, more roughly than intended after clearing her throat a few times. He looked a bit taken aback and crossed his arms as he grew more irritated. 

“Well, I was going to offer your sorry ass a job but maybe I’m reconsidering.” He was brusque, and she scowled behind her cigarette.

“I’m retired.” was her simple reply, softening her tone for his benefit. She wasn’t keen on making him any more annoyed. She looked around and tried to get her bearings. What _ fucking  _ time was it? She squinted at the discarded pip-boy on her headboard.

_ Ten a.m. on a thursday? I can’t remember if I should be awake by now… I really need to lay off the jet. _

A realization hit her like a Deathclaw.

_ HANCOCK. If Hancock and I…  _ She tried to recall last night, what they had done. What HAD they done? She looked down at herself, assessing her state of undress. A long t-shirt and some worn-out boxer shorts. If they had had sex at least she had the decency to get dressed after. That seemed out of character for her, maybe they hadn’t--

“Waiting on you, partner.” Nick said coolly, startling her out of her trance. Had he been talking?

“I’m sorry, Nick, I promise I will listen to what you have to say once I’ve had some tea…” She threw aside the blanket and stood up, shuffling to the tiny bathroom.

After completing her most urgent mission, she stood at the sink gazing into the small, dirty mirror. The circles under her eyes looked like bruises and her skin was dry and ashen. Her lips were chapped and red, she was dehydrated for sure. Hair was sticking out from every angle of the long, dark braid that fell over her shoulder. No wonder Nick was disappointed-- she looked rough. 

Turning away from the mirror, she walked back into the bedroom to see that Nick had left her alone. She shifted the large pile of clothes on the floor with her foot, looking for something that looked fairly clean. She selected a pair of baggy khaki shorts and a white tank, hoping it would keep her cool enough in the late-August heat. The Red Rocket’s air conditioning had stopped functioning long before the war, and there was no hope of fixing it now. 

She moseyed into the makeshift living area and Preston Garvey stopped her in her tracks- how many people were in her house? As if on cue, Hancock strode into her line of sight and answered her question. Thankfully, he was fully dressed- she was starting to think that her night had been more uneventful than she thought. 

She turned around to see Nick already sitting on the couch, looking pensive, so she settled into a chair in the corner. The corner was blessedly dim without the oversized reading lamp turned on, and she was grateful. 

Hancock handed her a mug of sweet, dark tea from her meager garden, and she took it with a look of abject gratefulness on her face. She closed her eyes as she sipped it, savoring the earthy flavor. Preston and Nick sat on opposite ends of the red sofa, while Hancock sat opposite her, in her chair’s twin. Preston seemed relaxed and happy, while Nick was stone-faced. Hancock seemed indifferent, but that was not an uncommon occurrence. 

“General, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been awhile, huh?” Preston said warmly, and she was struck at how much she had missed his easygoing, steadfast presence. There was an awkward silence between them, as if everyone was waiting for someone else to begin the conversation. Preston cleared his throat and decided to take the lead.

“General, I’ll say it plain: I need your help. I received a message yesterday from a fairly new settlement asking for our help. Apparently, there’s been a nasty band of raiders bothering them since they got here.” He finished and looked expectant, as if he were waiting for her to ask for more. She sipped her tea and gazed at him pointedly for a few seconds before speaking.

“So, why is Nick with you?” She asked in an irritated tone, which made Preston’s easy smile falter a bit.

“Turns out there was a murder there yesterday; folks can’t seem to cach a break these days.” Nick spoke this time, still sounding annoyed. She gave him a similarly pointed look before speaking.

“Too bad I’m retired.” She said, brushing them off rather more harshly than she had intended. She shook her head and stood up, mug in hand.

“Well it’s been great to see you boys, but I have my own shit to do so you’ll have to see yourselves out.” She told them as she walked into the garage and slid the door shut, making her point. She punched the garage door button and savored some more tea as it slowly rose, letting in slightly less hot and stale air. 

Dogmeat came bounding in as the door finished opening, running to her and doing the excited toe-tapping dance she loved. A genuine smile danced across her face for the first time as she took in the presence of the dog- she couldn’t deny that she had missed him greatly. She dashed to the beat-up couch in the corner and sat down, Dogmeat on her heels. He jumped up next to her and pushed his nose onto various parts of her face, and she giggled as he attempted to lick her. She wrapped her arms around him and dug her face and fingers into his thick fur; he smelled like happiness and freedom, and a bit like wet dog. She felt regret at her decision to leave him with Preston, but how interesting could retirement be to a dog? She couldn’t see him enjoying gardening in a haze of jet and alcohol as much as she did. For now though, she would enjoy this moment between them.

The sound of the door to the main room sliding open ended their moment, and she looked up to see Hancock striding towards her. She held tightly to Dogmeat, hoping his presence would prevent Hancock from sitting next to her, but the dog slipped easily from her grasp as he went to greet the handsome ghoul. Hancock gave him a friendly pat on the head and sat down next to her, while she crossed her arms defensively and drew back as far from him as possible.

“Jillian, listen… I think you should consider going with them.” He said, pressing his hands together for emphasis. She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose in irritation.

“What part of ‘I am retired’ is not clicking for you?” She replied bitingly while searching for anything to change the topic of conversation with. “Did we have sex last night?” She asked quickly. He sighed heavily.

“Not this time. We made it as far as the bed, but you insisted on another shot before we started and immediately passed out. So I just slept next to you, though I was already awake when the goody-two-shoes brigade showed up.” He sounded agitated, like he knew she was ducking the real subject at hand. “As nice as this sexy little vacation has been though, I gotta get back to Goodneighbor. Town ain’t gonna run itself.” 

Jillian scowled and narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with me going with them?” She snapped. Hancock hesitated, as if he were searching for the right words.

“Visiting you these past couple weeks… Well, this whole scene, the haze of jet and whiskey, the not giving a fuck? This ain’t you. This ‘retirement’ is starting to look more like a slow suicide.” He said, keeping his tone soft. The words hurt, but she had to admit he was right; at this rate, she’d huff herself into an early grave. She turned to Dogmeat, head lolled to one side, tongue sticking out of his open mouth- he was so happy to see her. Traveling with Dogmeat and Preston might do her some good, she really had missed them. 

Somewhere in her wounded heart she had missed Nick, too, but she was determined to leave those emotions buried in the dark edges of her mind. If she kept her trip short they would likely stay buried where they belonged, so she was determined to avoid him as much as possible in what little time they were traveling together. And if he did start to necromance her pain, well, that’s what Jet was for.

“Fine. I’ll see what they want.” She paused before continuing. “Thanks, Hancock.” She finished.

“Don’t mention it, kid. I’ve seen a lot of drifters with that haunted look you have in your eyes; and I’ve been to a lot of their funerals. I’d rather not go to yours.” He said with a disarming smile and a comforting hand on her knee.

She stood up and quaffed the now lukewarm tea, leaving it on the edge of the workshop counter before heading back into the other room with Dogmeat on her heels.

The door slid open to reveal Nick and Preston still sitting where she had left them, looking a bit bewildered at her abrupt departure. She sat down in the chair she had recently abandoned, and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Two days. After that, I’m done.” She said, matter-of-factly. Preston looked disappointed but nodded in agreement.

“You’re still the General.” He said mildly.

Nick was unreadable, but nodded silently. A heavy sigh escaped her as she walked back into her makeshift bedroom to gather her things. 

This would probably be much harder than she hoped.


	2. Musings on Mole Rat Meat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't really commit to a set update schedule because I'm at university right now. But I'm working fairly steadily on it, so they'll come when they come. I'm shooting for once a month.
> 
> Watched The Big Sleep with Humphrey Bogart since it's sort of a pillar of the genre Nick's character is taken from, and I highly recommend it. Made me thirsty for Nick, maybe that will bleed into my writing for the next chapter. ;)

She rubbed the dust out of her eyes, the thin breeze making them only slightly less miserable on the hot day.

_ Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?  _ She opened her eyes again and indeed, she was still firmly rooted in reality. The long double-decker train glinted in the overbearing sunshine, making her squint even under her sunglasses.

“Garvey, I thought we were going to a  _ settlement _ ,” she said, and Preston chuckled.

“We are. This is it,” he replied. Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Her and Nick had cleared out Bedford Station of ghouls long ago, and none of these cars had been there before.

“How did they get the cars here?” She asked, and Preston shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine, General.”

“Well, ain’t that a blast from the past…” Nick said in bewilderment as he and Dogmeat caught up to the group.

The words  _ Lakeshore Limited _ were painted on the side of ten of the cars in a large orange script, while the locomotive was a dull grey-green and bore the words  _ Chicago Freight Co. _ After the ten  _ Lakeshore Limited _ cars came a hodgepodge of assorted specialty cars- an observation deck-turned-greenhouse, an old wooden-paneled car that would’ve been old even before the war, and four beat-up freight cars in various dull colors.

Preston made his way to the platform and she followed, remains of the Massachusetts Turnpike looming in the distance as the rest of the group followed them. Three Minutemen walked behind, with Dogmeat and Nick bringing up the rear. She adjusted her backpack, leather straps creaking under the weight of the items she had packed.  _ Wish I hadn’t worn jeans…  _ She wiped sweat from her brow with the flannel she had been wearing (and had promptly removed when she stepped into the sun) and hoped the train would bring her some respite from the heat.

The station building was cool and dark, and she felt instantly better once they were inside. They hopped over broken benches and headed past the fulfillment office to the outdoor platform, Dogmeat suddenly on guard in front of Preston. 

A small, grey man was standing next to one of the silver doors, and smiled as he noticed them.

“Ah, The Minutemen! I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Officer Taylor highly recommended you as the  _ de facto  _ Wasteland problem solvers and I must say it is a delight to finally meet you.” His long beard quivered with each syllable, and Jillian found herself distracted by it as he spoke. He turned to Preston. “You must be Garvey, Ron told me all about you. He said you were one of the only survivors of the Quincy Massacre, is that right?” His words trailed off as he led Preston into the train with him, but she could tell he was still talking. The rest of the group hopped up the small steps and into the car, following Preston. As the man caught sight of the rest of them, he interrupted himself to address the group.

“But where are my manners? I haven’t even properly introduced myself yet, I’m the Conductor! Well, one of them… But you can call me Pullman or Tim or Tim Pullman or just conductor.” He finished his spiel, cracking a smile under his prodigious beard. He extended his hand to everyone in the group to shake, and his carefree demeanor made Jillian feel at ease in spite of herself.

“That’s Hollis, Savoldi and Nuñez, the backbone of the Minutemen.” Preston said as they shook hands. He turned to her next and took her hand in his iron grip.

“General Orbach, our leader and Detective Valentine. I asked him to come when I heard about yesterday’s… Events.” Dogmeat pushed his head into Pullman’s hand and the man let out a jolly laugh as he stroked the dog’s big head. “And that’s Dogmeat, of course.” Preston finished, chuckling. Jillian rubbed her palm on her jeans surreptitiously, feeling uncomfortable. She put her hand into her pockets and unconsciously shifted her position to be slightly behind Dogmeat, grabbing ahold of his harness. 

_ Preston seems more comfortable with being in charge.  _ She watched as Pullman continued to address him without paying her much thought. She looked around the car as the Conductor continued his long-winded monologue with Preston. A family of four was sitting at one of the corner seats, board game splayed every which way on the pop-up table in the middle. There were two booths on either side of the table, and duplicate booths butted up against each other lined up in two long columns with an aisle down the middle. A small staircase in either corner led up to the second floor, which Jillian could only assume looked just the same. The inside looked quite clean for how old it was, as though it had been in storage while the war was happening. Long chrome luggage racks still shone brightly, free of rust, and the dark blue seats had little wear and tear. A few people came down one of the corner staircases, laughing and joking, leaving the car unaware of the new passengers. 

“Well, I must get back to my duties! It was an honor to meet all of you, and I do hope I shall see you all in the dining car later today. Ah, I nearly forgot: the dining car is car number three, do try the Tato Stew, Miles does a wonderful job of it.” Pullman continued talking, but she tuned him out. He made her feel winded. She noticed a man enter the car from the door behind the Conductor, and watched him as he approached Pullman. He had on a white shirt with a wide blue tie, with a gold badge clipped to his shirt pocket. His eyes were set deeply into his face over an upturned nose, and he had a close-cropped haircut. Jillian tried not to think about him resembling a pig.

“Ah, good to see you Taylor. I suppose you’re here to talk to Preston, so I won’t hold him up any longer. Good day to all of you!” With that, Pullman finally left the car, headed towards the locomotive. Officer Taylor smiled warmly and shook Preston’s hand heartily, pulling him close and clapping him on the back while they exchanged surprised pleasantries.

“That conductor’s quite a talker, huh?” Nick asked idly from behind her. She turned to look at him, letting go of Dogmeat’s harness. Nick was tightening a joint in his skeletal hand with a red screwdriver.

“Listening to him makes me feel like I’ve just run a marathon.” She replied with a smirk. 

“Nice to see a smile on that face, for a while I thought you forgot how.” Nick said with his own grin. Her cheeks began to burn and she turned away, suddenly uncomfortable. She hoped Nick wouldn’t notice- and if he did, be decent enough to pretend not to. She got her wish when the group began walking, following Taylor, who was still conversing with Preston. She was in front of Nick, and could no longer hear what they were saying. 

They passed through the door and over the walkway covering the coupling, entering a sleeping car. The long hallway stretched in front of them, and she felt as though her shoulders were nearly brushing the walls as they walked. A light hung over every door, giving the hallway a sickly fluorescent glow. She entertained herself by looking through open doors as they walked past, enjoying the personal touches each resident had added to their room. A handmade blanket, photos of friends and relatives taped to the walls, a vase or interesting knickknack, children’s toys strewn about. It looked as though the residents were firmly entrenched in their spaces- perhaps the settlement wasn’t as new as they had first thought.

They passed over another coupling and into another sleeping car, a carbon copy of the last, the only distinguishing features being a fresh array of personal items. A pinup from a magazine or newspaper clippings taped next to the window, a dress draped across a chair, an in-progress card game on the table. 

A baby cooed, and her head craned toward the sound involuntarily. A baby with red-brown skin was dressed in pale yellow pajamas, with an angelic halo of tiny, dark curls coming from her head. She laughed as a man in a blue pinstripe suit danced a pink teddy bear on her pudgy belly.

She felt Nick’s fingertips land softly on her shoulder blade, wordlessly urging her forward as he had done so many times while they were traveling together. She began walking again- she hadn’t even realized she had stopped. The places where Nick’s fingers had been felt as though they were searing her flesh, but she shoved the sensation and the muddled thoughts that came with it back into the darkness of her subconscious. 

Another coupling, another sleeping car, the same as the others had been. The air was cooler in the cars, though not by much. She wiped sweat from her forehead again, feeling increasingly like she wanted to be laying down and doing nothing while wearing as little clothing as possible.

They walked over yet another coupling and into yet another sleeping car; Jillian was beginning to wonder if all the cars were sleeping cars. 

Hollis stopped abruptly in front of her, and she took a quick step back to avoid running into the woman. Nick’s whole hand landed on her shoulder blade, lightly pushing her away from him.

“Hey, take it easy kid.” He said as she righted herself and pulled away from him. A hot knife ran through her shoulder, her skin gooseflesh. She turned and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes in a desperate attempt to push back the wave of panic. 

_ Keep it together woman, you can have a breakdown later.  _ She swallowed and rubbed her eyes, opening them to see Nick looking at her.

“You alright, partner? You ain’t looking so good.” He said. She inhaled sharply to collect her thoughts.

“Yeah, just hungry. Maybe I’ll try the tato stew.” She said with a smirk, hoping her joke would deflect him. 

“You’ll have to give me a full report.” He said humorlessly. 

_ You really thought you could lie to a Detective?  _ None of her usual deflection tactics were working, she’d have to try something else.

She saw that the others were moving their backpacks into the empty rooms, so she followed suit. She tapped the metal button to open room 416, noticing that the four had been painted fairly recently. A room just like all the ones before it opened before her, this one stark and empty. Threadbare but clean bedding was folded neatly on the table, along with two pillows. She opened the window as far as it would go and closed the blinds, hoping to limit the sun’s hot rays. She heaved her faded brown backpack onto one of the seats, knocking loose years worth of dust from the cushions. She sneezed, loudly, catching the others’ attention. 

“Gesundheit.” Nick said, coming over to where she stood. She mustered up a genuine-looking smile.

“Thanks. Hey, uh, you can keep your stuff in here if you want. Since you don’t really need a place to sleep…” She trailed off, waiting for him to answer. He looked at her for a minute before speaking as though he were trying to see what she was thinking, which alarmed her.

“Sure, could use a place to keep these papers.” He said, nonchalant. He placed his brown leather bag next to hers, and she sneezed again. He watched the dust mites dance in the pattern of the sun through the blinds, as though he were searching for the right thing to say. Instead of speaking, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and took one for himself. He extended the pack to her and looked expectant. She took one, lighting it with her own lighter. She inhaled deeply, grateful for the distraction. It seemed he had decided not to push the issue, and she hoped he would drop it altogether, though it seemed unlikely. Once Nick was curious about something he couldn’t let it go, which she supposed was a useful trait in his profession. 

“You wanna go look at the crime scene?” He said, conspiratorially. She gave him a genuine grin this time, weak as it was. 

“You know I do, partner.” She said, being truthful. She considered any opportunity to use her Law degree a win for her these days. Nick motioned for her to lead the way, following her out the door. 

Preston intercepted her with a hand on her shoulder, which she promptly pulled away from lest he rekindle the fire in her skin.

“General, there you are. I’ll walk with you to the briefing.” He said, and she looked at Nick apologetically.

“Sorry Nick, duty calls.” She said, Nick giving her a little wave as he walked off. A sinking feeling was forming in her stomach as she realized she had no idea what the briefing was going to be about. She remembered Preston mentioning raiders back at the Red Rocket, so she assumed it would be about that. He led her into another car, this one a two-floor freight car fashioned into a fairly bustling marketplace. Ramshackle stalls lined the walls, selling everything from armor to weapons to street food. Lights were strung back and forth between the walls, giving the windowless car an indefinite air of night. Bright white paint marked signs on the walls near the stairwells with business names, and arrows pointing up or down depending on location. There were faded advertisements plastered on the walls, with new ad copy painted overtop of the old, giving the images a new purpose. 

The smell of something fried and fatty hit her nose, and her mouth began to water. She  _ was _ hungry, that hadn’t been a lie. Spotting a man standing over a small wood-filled grill in front of a stall, she walked over to look at what he was cooking. Several skewers of alternating meat and seasoned squash were sizzling over the heat, and a small crowd had gathered around him. 

_ I suppose it is about lunch time. _ She glanced at her pip-boy, confirming her hunch. 

“Alright folks, line up and get your caps ready, these babies are coming off the grill!” The man said, wiping sweat from his balding brow. He grabbed a set of large barbeque tongs and began serving people in line, picking up the skewers by the foodstuff and presenting them the wooden handle. She soon found herself at the front of the line, three caps in hand, no caps in hand, then skewer in hand.

It smelled better than anything she had eaten in awhile, maybe since she had emerged from that godforsaken frozen pod. She hadn’t even realized you could find garlic anymore, but the small cloves nested between the larger chunks proved her wrong. Biting into a chunk, she recognized it as molerat meat, though it was much better tasting than any of her own attempts to cook it. It was  _ quite _ good, actually. Grease ran down her chin as she tore at the food, but she was so engrossed in the flavors she hadn’t noticed. 

Catching up to Preston, she followed him into a room built into the corner of the car, sturdier looking than the stalls around it. A steel desk stood in the middle of the room, with two chairs facing the front of it and a sofa pushed back against the wall behind them. Preston sat in one of the chairs, so she took a seat in the other. The other three minutemen sat on the couch, and Travis stood behind his desk. He looked pointedly at her, as though she were holding him up with her quick eating. She popped the last bit of squash into her mouth and placed the stick on her lap, looking sheepish. 

She wasn’t looking forward to this meeting.


	3. brain matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short and sweet, a teaser if you will. I didn't want you guys to think I had abandoned you so I broke a piece off the next update to give you something to think about :) 
> 
> Online university while having adhd is the one of worst experiences of my whole life 0/10 do not recommend. Updates are happening but so is all this goddamn homework.

Chapter 3

She came out of the meeting feeling dizzy, like she had just come out of a particularly grueling law school exam. Taylor was a blunt man, to the point and forceful. She felt as though he had been trying to bury them in information. When he brought out his hand-drawn tactical map, her brain checked out. Preston seemed interested enough for the both of them anyway. She wasn’t concerned with whatever raider-containment plans they had made, the train departed tomorrow afternoon and she intended to be firmly on the platform. 

Nick caught her eye as she walked out of the office, as he flicked a spent cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his worn shoe. He was leaning against the exterior wall, left hand in the pocket of his coat. She joined him with a similar lean, taking the cigarette from the box he offered. 

“Train’s leaving tomorrow afternoon.” She said as she lit up, orange flame reflecting in the lenses of her glasses. 

“A half-hour briefing and all you can tell me is “train’s leaving’?” Nick asked with a smirk. She took a long drag, exhaling slowly.

“I wasn’t really listening. Something about raiders up near Albany; I’m sure Preston can handle it.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand.

“I forgot about your two day limit, forgive me.” He said, dripping sarcasm. She furrowed her brow.

“Wait, Nick-”

“Ah, put a pin in that thought would ya, kid?” He interjected, holding up a hand. He approached Officer Taylor, who had finally emerged from the office. She noticed that Nick towered over him, and that Taylor seemed uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure if Nick was making him that way or if it was just his general demeanor. Nick asked him a question and Taylor barked out an answer, walking away before Nick could ask a follow-up. He came back to her, looking suspicious.

“Nice guy.” He said, sarcastic again. “Told me to talk to the doctor in the medical car. You up for a stroll?” 

She nodded, and followed him as he headed to the medical car.

* * *

The door to the doctor’s office was open when they arrived, showing off a room of well-preserved chrome and aluminum. It was in the same style as the other  _ Lakehore Limited _ cars, and would have been state-of-the-art when it was built.

“Knock knock.” Nick said before entering, hoping for a reply. Nothing came, so they proceeded into the long, narrow office. Myriad medical tools were strewn about the galley-style counters, and a terminal was bolted down onto a section on the left side. Around halfway down the narrow room the counters ended, making way for three beds on either side. A cold corpse lay on an exam table that was haphazardly parked next to the terminal, a white shroud over top. 

Nick gently removed the shroud from the head of the body, placing it around her shoulders. 

“Helluva way to go.” He said quietly, gently cradling the head in his hands. Jillian sucked in a breath and tried not to retch. A well-built woman in her late-thirties lay lifeless in front of her, with a large bullet hole through her forehead. He pointed to a smattering of small red dots diffused around the entry wound.

“Powder burns. Someone shot her point-blank.” He said, before turning the head around to show her the exit wound. “Whoever it was, they used a pretty big gun.” She turned away, nauseated at the sight of brain matter.  _ I wonder if this is how Nick felt when we were fighting all those synths...  _ Refusing to let that thought go any farther, she shoved it into her subconscious. They heard the sound of the door to the other car slide open, and Nick quickly recovered the corpse, moving next to her with an always surprising amount of finesse. 

A woman in a lab coat came in holding the baby Jillian had seen earlier, and it was obvious she was the baby’s mother. A man followed, face shadowed by his fedora. 

“Oh, hello, can I help you with something?” The doctor asked, re-positioning the baby on her hip before catching sight of Nick and going slack-jawed. The man behind her came into the light of the office, and Jillian saw his face for the first time. Or, more accurately, the hundredth time.

A perfectly intact MKII Synth looked at her and Nick, mirroring their expressions.

“Nick…” The doctor said, astonished. “I never thought I’d meet you in person.”

Jillian suddenly needed to sit down.


	4. Sweet Cecilia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else get run over by the mack truck of mental illness? 
> 
> I worked this chapter about a thousand times and it ain't getting any better, so here it is.
> 
> FH note: I went back and forth on what FH ending to use and settled on the one where DiMA is executed for his crimes but Acadia is allowed to stand. I thought it was a nice mirror to Jillian losing Nate.

Nick pulled another cigarette from his carton, methodically and unconsciously lighting it and inhaling as he had done millions of times. He was certainly surprised to see another MKII synth, especially one so… whole. He supposed there had been a time when he had looked like that too, but those memories were long gone. He glanced at Jillian, who looked like she had seen a ghost. Well, he supposed she had.

“Well, another long-lost brother crawls out of the woodwork… Question is, how did he escape the Institute?” He looked the new synth in the eye as he took another drag. The pretty doctor shifted the baby on her hip, drawing his attention.

“Nick… This is Rickey, also known as Prototype Three.” She shifted again, uncomfortably. The baby sleepily turned her head towards Rickey, reaching out her small hand towards him. He took her in one fluid movement, and she settled into a comfortable position on his shoulder with one small hand grasping the lapel of his blue pinstripe suit. Nick noted the Pompadour wig atop Rickey’s head, he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“By the looks of you, I’m guessing you weren’t tossed out with the garbage like yours truly.” He added, hoping Rickey would take the bait. The Doctor spoke up.

“Well, that’s the thing. I found him lying in a forgotten storage room, abandoned after a total neural meltdown. I had to rebuild all his systems from the ground up, using whatever I could salvage from his neural net and the personality scan backups.” She finished, and Nick mulled it over.

“Thanks for the info, doctor…” He trailed off and waited for her.

“Erivo.”

“Doctor Erivo.” He confirmed

“Why isn’t he telling us this?” Jillian interjected, crossing her arms in front of her. She was becoming more uncomfortable as the conversation turned towards the Institute. Dr. Erivo frowned before answering.

“Unfortunately, there were a few systems I hadn’t repaired before the Minutemen destroyed the Institute.” She showed no indication of recognizing Jillian, but seemed angry nonetheless. Jillian looked pale and haggard. She stared at her boots, and Nick noticed her pushing her thumbnail into the crook of her elbow. It was turning red.

“Why don’t you give my partner and I a minute, eh?” Nick said, putting an arm around Jillian’s shoulders. Doctor Erivo dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and sat in front of the terminal on the desk. Nick used his arm to steer Jillian towards the vestibule, and she shrugged him off roughly when the door slid shut behind them.

“What’s going on, J?” He asked, treading lightly. She scowled and rolled her eyes.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Her tone was steely, and her eyes had had a dark, whiskey-sharp set to them. He felt the beginnings of a comforting touch subroutine begin to fire, but he killed it before it could reach the servos in his shoulder.

“Maybe you should let me take this one, kid.” He said gently. She sucked her teeth in irritation, a familiar habit. Nick realized this conversation was rapidly morphing into a minefield. He watched the muscles in her beautiful jaw contract as she gritted her teeth, another familiar habit.

“Whatever, Nick,” she said before punching the door button roughly, admitting herself into the next car. He felt like he’d failed at something, but wasn’t sure what.

He walked back into the Doctor’s office to find the three right where he’d left them. Dr. Erivo was engrossed in something on her terminal, and Rickey had placed the sleeping baby in a makeshift bassinet on the counter. He walked over to Nick, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a warm, genuine smile. 

“Yeah, uh, great to meet you too Rickey.” He gently extracted himself from his brother’s grasp, turning to the Doctor again. 

“I was actually hoping to ask you a couple of questions if you’ve got a moment.” He said, all business. She turned away from her terminal, smiling conspiratorially.

“Of course, I’m sure you have a million. Ask away!” She sat back in the chair and folded her hands in front of her. 

“What can you tell me about the gal under the sheet on the table over there?” He asked. She frowned, clearly hoping to field questions about her work on Rickey. 

“Not much… Taylor had her brought in this morning, seems pretty cut and dry. Gunshot wound to the head, time of death sometime around 3am.” She said. Nick shifted on his feet, producing the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Dr. Erivo brandished a pen at him like a knife.

“Don’t you dare smoke another cigarette in here. I let the first one slide because we were all surprised, but that’s your last one in  _ this _ office.” She said. He flipped the lid back in place and slid the pack back into his pocket without a word.

“I don’t suppose the victim had a name?” He asked. She furrowed her brow.

“Cecilia Brown. Joined up a few months ago after leaving the Brotherhood of Steel. Can’t say I know any more than that.” She said. If Nick had brows, he would have furrowed them. 

“Anything else I can answer for you?” She asked. He shook his head.

“I think that covers it for now. Thank you, Doctor.” He moved to walk away.

“You know, I could repair your skin, patch that big hole in your neck. I could give you a complete diagnostic and repair too.” She looked eager, but Nick was hesitant. 

“Ah, maybe some other time. I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.” He moved to walk away again, but she stood up and placed a hand on his arm.

“Nick, I’ll say it plain. You could be a major asset to Rickey’s recovery. I have a few things I managed to save from the Institute, but you could make a real difference. Using your body as a framework for his, I could repair him in a week or so instead of months or years of guesswork.” She looked into his eyes, and he could hear the plea in her words. 

“What’s the catch?” He asked, his Detective brain as suspicious as ever. She looked sheepish.

“Well... I’d have to take you apart, and you’d spend a lot of hours with your main power supply disconnected. But I could repair you too! New skin to cover the holes, oil the joints and knuckles, and I could give you the same upgrades I gave Rickey. You’d be good as new and then some.” She looked as though she wanted to continue, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“I get the gist. I’ll think about it.” He said, looking at Rickey. He was watching their conversation intently but betrayed no emotion. He thought about DiMA again, and the sad situation in Far Harbor. The last time they’d tried to help one of his new brothers, he’d ended up executed by angry and suspicious humans. He killed the memory executable and walked towards the door.

“We’ll be waiting for your answer.” The Doctor said to his back. He sighed and punched the door button to the next car. 

He couldn’t deny the allure of a good repair job, but the idea of “helping” another brother gave him pause. Maybe it was best to leave well enough alone on this one.


End file.
